


Arts and Crafts

by fancyfanstuff



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, Enchanted Forest AU, F/F, Idk what happened, a lot of staring on Emma's part, and sass on Regina's, prompted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-10 00:10:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20518748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyfanstuff/pseuds/fancyfanstuff
Summary: Emma is but a plain carpenter loving her trade, loving wood, loving shapes. So how could she possibly keep from staring when the Queen happens to pay a visit, with eyes like mahogany and hair the colour of ebony and a face so beautiful it could never be crafted?Or, the one in which Emma learns she prefers curves over straight lines after all.





	Arts and Crafts

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously don't know what happened. (That's a lie. I was tired of writing Regina's POV after my 80k supernova and longed for some Emma POV, with everything it entailed. Matters got out of hand. Sue me.)
> 
> Thanks to the wonderful Shadowdianne for the prompt "plain, knot, glow" and to San for helping me out with an idea!
> 
> Happy reading, hope you enjoy!

The bridge felt rough beneath Emma's fingertips, coarse wood that was probably just waiting to give her a splinter as she trailed her hands over the jagged edges of the hole. She still couldn't fathom how Leroy had done it, one second boasting that he'd cleanly knocked Walter out in a fight at the tavern last night, the next grappling for purchase when the planks had given away under him and he found himself hanging halfway into the river. Judging from his screams of terror, he might as well have faced certain death by drowning, instead of the merry brooke wetting his panties.

Emma snorted lightly to herself and bowed down to the water reaching up to just over her knees. It was pleasantly cool in the heat of the summer day and Emma sloshed a generous portion into her face before she turned back to the hole and her tools lined up next to it. She intended to replace the two broken boards with new, thicker ones, that she'd already prepared back at the workshop. Their wood was much lighter, fresh and unblemished by the tread of countless boots, though Emma supposed the cleanliness wouldn't last long. The way over the bridge was one of the only two paths that lead into the village, and the travellers and merchants were frequent.

As if by command, Emma could make out the muffled clopping of hooves in the distance, the sound almost swallowed by the rustling of the leaves yet unmistakably coming towards broken bridge. Emma swore under her breath, strained her ears to gauge how much time she would have left. Not enough to repair the hole in time, that much was clear, but if she hurried now, she might be able to take out the cracked planks and provisorily cover the gap with the new, so that whatever traveller was approaching could at least pass. It would have to do. Wishing she hadn't dawdled so much earlier, Emma set to work. 

She had just pulled out the last nail that fastened the splintered board to the beam, when she perceived movement in her peripheral vision, a flash of black in the brightness of the summer woods. A horse had rounded the last bend of the path, dark and imposing in its proud trot, an equally well-built man on its back. Emma looked up in surprise, the rusty nail still in the clasp of her tongs. It was a rather hot day, covering her in sweat despite her wide shirt and light shorts, but the man wore both uniform and helmet in black. If he was uncomfortable though, his face gave nothing away.

Another rider came into view, a female one, judging from her hands. Why it were just the hands that Emma's focus fell on first, she didn't know, but they were exceptionally beautiful, slender and pale and primly folded over the reins. They looked tended to somehow, clean and well-groomed in a way Emma could never achieve for her own hands. It was obvious that this woman didn't have to work to have food on her table. 

Against her will, Emma's gaze wandered upwards. The noble hands belonged to noble arms, defined but no real muscles, and hidden away beneath a dark velvety fabric that clung to their form like a second skin. Again, the dress looked far too warm for summer, and Emma let her eyes travel over the covered abdomen, chest and even part of the neck in wonder, suddenly feeling rather naked in her own clothes.

Before she could get around to inspecting the face of the strange woman, a voice rang out, metallic from under the man's helmet.

"On your knees," he demanded, drawing his horse to a stop, "for it is your Queen."

Emma's head snapped up as her jaw dropped. She distantly registered that she probably looked like a fool, knee deep in the river and about to catch a fly or two, but those thoughts paled in comparison to those overwhelming her when she lay her eyes on the queen. Because holy smoke. 

Queen Regina - for that was her name, minted on the coins of the kingdom in neat writing, right beneath an imprint of her regal profile - looked nothing like on those replicas. Though Emma recognized the proud tilt of her head, the sharp angle of her jawline, the clean-cut features, the real Queen held a beauty that could hardly be captured on the dull surface of a coin. Motion added a glow to her looks, a fleeting familiarity to the sharp lines, a twinkle that turned the distant immaculacy of a picture into the true to life view of a fellow human. And Emma, Emma, who had always been a person to admire the static things in life; the rectangular forms of tables, chairs, bridges; scantlings and square slabs; clean edges and immaculate right angles; Emma, who had an eye for shapes, an affinity, that had brought her into the carpenter trade in the first place; Emma, who had never cared much for curves, the so-called organic softness of moving, living things, found herself entranced with the woman before her.

She swallowed dryly, her throat parched from having had her mouth open for so long. She felt slightly dazed like maybe she had been out in the sun for too long, or as if she had just woken up from a pleasant dream and the dregs of sleep were still clinging to her eyelids. The tip of that last nail was piercing her palm, and she only now realized that she hadn't moved for who knew how many seconds. A hot flush rose in her cheeks before she could suppress it, and she blinked several times, desperate to recall what had been said and why both the Queen and her guard were looking at her expectantly.

Or, well, Regina's look could probably best be described as 'amused,' whereas the man downright glared at Emma. She ventured a smile.

"Hi there." Oh god. The guard's eyes darkened further, while the Queen lifted an incredulous eyebrow. Emma winced. "Your Majesty...?" She added cautiously, her voice dying away with every syllable. Right. Emma bit down on her lower lip to prevent more potentially wrong words from tumbling out, then dragged her gaze away from the two riders and focused on the broken bridge again. Doing her job could hardly get her into trouble...

Except the guard interrupted her before she could even put away that damned nail. 

"I told you to kneel," he snarled, loud enough to make his horse sidle about. Emma felt her cheeks heat up once more, the treacherous red always too close to the surface, too easily triggered. She hated that particular flaw in herself, disliked the guard too, who had to remind her of it by humiliating her in front of, well, the Queen. Annoyance welled up in her, quickly followed by defiance and another feeling, which Emma would later categorize as plain idiocy but at that moment seemed to resemble courage.

"You do realize I'm standing in a river," she said before she could stop herself, "And that kneeling would literally drench me from head to toe?"

The guard looked about ready to shoot Emma, glowering down at her in a way that only made her jut her chin forward more. However, the Queen prevented the fight lingering like heavy perfume in the air between them by chuckling, a raspy sound that made the guard's eyes widen in surprise and Emma's head snap up.

Regina's dark gaze raked over her figure with that kind of unashamed intensity that only the rich and powerful could afford. Emma had never before been so conscious of her plain clothes and dirty skin as when the Queen's eyes were on her, estimating, lurking, until she pursed her lips and met Emma's gaze again.

"A compelling view, I am sure."

Emma choked. For a split second she wasn't sure if she had understood right, or if she had ultimately lost her mind and started hallucinating, but then the guard coughed and asked "Your Majesty?" in a shocked tone, so apparently he had heard the words too. Regina seemed to be the only one unfazed by what she had said.

"Compelling, but not very useful I am afraid," she continued smoothly, as if she didn't even notice the two incredulous stares she was getting. Her voice had a throaty quality to it, a rasping sound that reminded Emma of fresh sawdust, still carrying the forest's musky smell. "Right now, I would prefer a working bridge over a wet servant."

For the second time today, Emma's jaw dropped open. There was something in the Queen's drawl, in the tilt of her head, the swirling browns of her eyes, that insinuated a deliberate word choice, the stress on the "right now" intentional enough to turn Emma's insides liquid with subtext.

"Right," she brought out, forcing her eyes to focus on the planks in front of her instead of the playful smirk dancing on the Queen's lips. "I will have it repaired it no time." She cursed herself for sounding so eager. Regina was just a woman, she told herself, a woman like every other woman in the village with the difference that this one used to bear a crown. So why was she so fascinated? Why couldn't she stop watching the Queen from the corner of her eyes, watching her graceful motions as she dismounted and stretched her legs, all the while Emma was working on the bridge and the guard sent her impatient looks?

Deep down, Emma knew why, of course. It was Regina's shape, her form immaculate in a way Emma usually only found in crafted objects, flawless like Emma's woodwork, safe for a small scar on her upper lip. It was that scar that Emma felt her eyes drawn to time after time, that tiny blemish like a dent in an old table. Because as much as Emma loved creating new pieces in her workshop, loved the unmarred perfection of unused furniture, for her a project would only be finished once it bore at least one mark, one sign that it was fulfilling its purpose. It was what gave them life, and Regina was the most alive thing Emma had ever laid her eyes on. 

Despite her distraction however, Emma worked quickly and efficiently, and it didn't take her long to fit in the new boards. Hardly the quarter of an hour had passed when she swung her hammer one last time to drive a nail into the fresh wood, before she turned around with a triumphant "There, all done, Your Majesty."

She found the Queen already watching her, those soot-rimmed eyes - eyeliner on point, lashes perfectly curled, irises the colour of Mahogany wood - trailing over Emma's arms, shoulders, neck, cheeks, until they finally locked with Emma's gaze. There was a predatory glint in their depths, a darkness that took Emma's breath away. Yet Regina didn't speak.

"That took you long enough," the guard, whom Emma had already forgotten about, spoke up, effectively startling Emma enough to break away from the staring match. A knot of desire had formed in the pit of her stomach, the speechless awe she felt for the perfect craftwork that was the Queen's body slowly but surely transforming into burning curiosity. If she were to run a finger down Regina's cheek, would she feel irregularities in texture? If she combed through Regina's ebony hair, would she find darker strands beneath, curls hidden in the nape of her neck, cowlicks? What about her hands, those noble hands, would they be as smooth to the touch as they looked, or did danger lurk in the sharp crescents of Regina's nails?

The Queen's lips lifted in a dangerous smile, as if she knew exactly what Emma was thinking. It sufficed to bring the colour to Emma's cheeks once more, and Regina released another chuckle.

"I trust you have made good work..."

"Emma," Emma filled in hastily, "Emma Swan." And then, prompted by a quirked eyebrow, "And yes, Your Majesty. I always do."

Regina gave her an approving glance. "Miss Swan," she repeated, her lips wrapping carefully around the two syllables. She nodded to herself before striding over to her horse. As she mounted it, Emma could catch a glimpse at taut muscles, pronounced through the tight fabric of the Queen's trousers. Not that she had been staring.

Regina didn't address her again until she and her guard had safely passed the bridge. Emma had almost given up on hearing her voice again, the sinking feeling of disappointment already attaining a tight grip around her insides, when the Queen turned around once more, a casual lilt in her tone.

"I believe you live nearby?"

Emma grinned, she couldn't help it. Was there an actual flicker of hope in the Queen's indifferent eyes, just before it was drowned again by sultry satisfaction when Emma nodded?

"My workshop is just at the bend of the road, on the other side of the village, Your Majesty."

Regina sort of hummed, a quiet sound of approval that just barely reached Emma's ears. Then she turned away without another word. Her back was straight, her posture rigid and regal; nothing hinted at any interest on her part, yet when her horse had carried her almost put of earshot, Emma saw her bending over to the guard.

"We will stop here for today."

It was all Emma could do to bite down on her lower lip to suppress a giddy giggle, especially when the guard lifted his head in surprise.

"Already? But Your Majesty - " 

"Enough of that," Regina's voice sounded out once more, frigid enough to make the guard duck, "I won't tolerate another word of protest. We are staying, period."


End file.
